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I haven't seen her in years.

Maybe she's still there
when the tide rises
foraging in the river
dreaming in half moon
they meet their fate
floating into her net.

With the tide ebbing
maybe she's still hugging the shore
praying for a little more
till the stars blink weary
waiting for her to go home.

Is she still there
her skin smeared with mud
stalking like a night heron
silhouetted against the skylight
her feet kissing the riverbed
her bed lonely and cold.

I wonder why for me
she's so mysterious
a predator in the river
a foresaker of life
for the life of her
brewing a love
deeper than I've ever known.

In my eye's river
she's still there.

Age cannot catch up with her.
We climb the Koro hill.

Forty years and still ascending
gives a good feel.

We stand under a Madhuca tree
blossoming in March heat and rain.

From the hilltop
the valley down below
looks dreamy grey.

We've greyed and graded
past full bloom.

In the wafting fragrance of Madhuca
we pray to hold on
for some more.
Koro hill, March 22, 2025, 2.30 pm
My love and gratitude for my fellow poets and friends for being with me this long 12 years on Hello Poetry.
The beauty of paper flowers
They never wither

The tragedy of paper flowers
They always remember

Your gentle hands could do no harm
But they could let go

A paper flower never wilted

Even worse

It was discarded
A moth ate my clothes
But I didn't really mind
'Cause he said he was a butterfly
 Jun 2 irinia
Asuka
My train winds through a cavern of silence—
a tunnel carved from doubt and dusk.
This is only a phase,
but it feels endless.

At each station, someone boards.
Strangers. Friends. Faces I once trusted.
Some stay for a while,
some leave too soon—
passengers, not meant for the whole journey.

But not all who ride are kind.

Some wear masks of flesh,
but move like ghosts—
zombies with eyes that pierce,
not see.

They don’t ask who I am.
They tell me who I should be.
"You're too much."
"You're not enough."
"Be like us."

Their words are weapons:
criticism,
comparison,
judgment sharp as bone.
They tried to wound me
with their version of truth.

And yes, I bled.
But I did not break.

They got off—
just as quietly as they came.
Left behind their echoes,
but not their power.

And I remained.
Human.
Moving forward.

Because this train is mine—
my life, my path.
And every stop,
every scar,
is proof I kept going.

I reached my station—
not perfect, but free.
Not whole, but real.
Scarred, but alive.
This poem uses the metaphor of a train journey to represent the poet's life. The train passes through a dark cave, symbolizing a difficult phase. At different stations, representing moments in life, people enter and exit the train, just as people come and go in real life. Some of these passengers are like zombies: judgmental and emotionally lifeless, trying to impose their harsh standards through criticism and comparison. Though their words caused pain and left emotional scars, the poet survives, stays true to themselves, and ultimately reaches their destination, wounded but still human, still moving forward.
 Jun 2 irinia
badwords
Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.
Lonely, waiting, watching deep,
Praying as the tempests rise,
Losing hope where shadows creep,
Don’t you leave him — heed his cries.

Alcyone, don’t you stray,
Alcyone, trust his vow.
He longs to whisper, bid you stay,
Yet the tide won’t let him now.

He loves you true, but he is gone,
The sea demands its toll.
He cannot hold you when the dawn
Fades beyond waters cold.

You turned away, betrayed his trust,
Abandoned love so pure.
Now his fate is ocean rust,
A dream that won’t endure.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He prayed beneath the moon.
Yet the sea knew you’d turn away,
And now the waves consume.

He wished to say he loved you still,
Even through the salty spray.
Why could you not just wait until,
He found a way to stay?

He bent upon his weary knee,
A ring within his grasp.
Yet you left him lost at sea,
A vow drowned in the past.

All the sailors found embrace,
Returned to waiting arms.
But he, forsaken, cast away,
Claimed by whispers where specters mark.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He whispered every night.
He prayed, but you did not believe,
And so, to ghosts, he paid the price.

He loved with faith, his heart was whole,
Yet was your love the same?
Did longing ache for him alone,
Or did you covet but his name?

Your sorrow is the hollow storm,
That stole his final breath.
You cry now, but guilt is born,
You let him drift to death.

Why did you leave, Alcyone?
He never chose the sea.
He parted to build a life for you,
Yet you let him cease to be.

Look upon the wreckage now,
The love you cast aside.
He did this for you, yet fate allowed
His ruin in the tide.

Listen, Alcyone, do not pretend,
You cannot play the part.
We all know it was you, in the end,
The one who stopped his heart.
One breath among 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
~
June 2025
HP Poet: Agnes de Lods
Age: 47
Country: Poland


Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Agnes. Please tell us about your background?

Agnes de Lods: "My name is Agnes (Agnieszka), and I come from Poland. I grew up in the countryside, in a family rooted in rural and small-town traditions. My mother is a very intuitive person, and my father was always standing in the last row, quietly helping others, especially people with disabilities.

My parents gave me two ways of perception: seeing with the heart and with the mind. They didn’t have higher education, but our home was full of music, books, radio talks, and documentaries that showed the world in many dimensions. They helped me see that reality is full of tension and harmony, depending on what we pay attention to.

They gave me space to speak in my own voice. Growing up close to nature, I spent time observing, listening to the rhythm of the seasons. I learned humility, compassion, and what it means to face hard work and failure."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Agnes de Lods: "In Polish, I’ve been writing for four years. In English, two or three. But in a way, I had been preparing for it all my life by writing, reading, and observing the world around me.

I started sharing my reflections on Hello Poetry in December, just a few months ago. For the first time, I felt ready to express everything I had kept inside for years."



Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Agnes de Lods: "People. I love people. Every single person has a story. Sometimes strangers stop me in the street and start talking. I guess they want to be heard, and I love to listen.

Nature inspires me. And my dreams, too. Some of them come true, others do not. Still waiting for those lottery numbers to show up in a dream.

Books are also a huge source, just like music and art in all their forms. I am inspired by Karolina Halatek and Hania Rani, Marc Witmann, Umo Vide, Dror Elimelech, and Patricia Suarez (Colombian poet and painter), and many others."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Agnes de Lods: "Poetry is exceptional on every level. Metaphors express the unspeakable and have real power. They change the frequency of thought.

Poetry heals, invites contemplation, and opens doors to the many layers of human nature.

To me, poetry is sound, color, scent, even taste."



Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Agnes de Lods: "Sylvia Plath, Alejandra Pizarnik, Wisława Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesław Miłosz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico García Lorca, and many more.

I also read poems on Hello Poetry, and I am so glad to see many truly talented writers here. It means this world still has a chance."



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Agnes de Lods: "I am fascinated by psychology and archetypes. I read Jung with deep interest.

I love sci-fi, deep conversations, walks in the forest, and learning new languages. But more than anything, I care about human connection and understanding.

I like to dance and play the piano, though I have not had much time for that lately. And I love connecting the dots."



Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Agnes, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”

Agnes de Lods: "Thank you so much for letting me share my story. I am so glad to be part of this community of sensitive souls. I feel good here."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Agnes a little bit better. We certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #29 in July!

~
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